I wake up slowly these days. My mind is alert before my body, but the mind is fuzzy too at times.

My body feels brittle, breakable, as though sleep had solidified tendons and muscles. My back fused together, prohibiting ease of movement.

I take time, now, to stretch before I get out of bed. To roll up into a ball, then arch back, imitating my cat as he stretches, his head reaching over his back for his tail. I twist from side to side, then slide out of bed.

The first few steps are still relatively brittle ones. More stretching on the living room floor is called for.

A relatively new phenomenon, this awful breakable feel. I miss the flexible me of thirty years ago. Hell, the flexible me of ten years ago. As I age I find I must be more selfish in order to be less selfish, need more time to take care of this body in order to take care of others.

When I woke up this morning, a marine layer hung over the valley. By the time I actually got up this morning, the sun had shredded the fog to a brilliant blue sky. I guess the morning, too, needed time to awaken.